Page 87 of His Tenth Dance

Her eyes popped open. “How do you feel about me?”

“You extracted that bit, did you?” he asked, his voice low as he leaned in, his mouth just a breath from hers. “I’mcrazyabout you, kitten. And it doesn’t matter what color your ribbon is—or if you don’t have one at all. I’m still going to be absolutely crazy about you.”

With that, he released her, took her hand solidly in his, and opened the door to the Community Arts Center. He led her inside the air-conditioned building, where the first thing they saw was an enormous purple ribbon. The head of it was at least a foot across that readBest in Show, with several frilly arms hanging down. A honey lavender opera cake sat beneath it, accompanied by photographs of the cake whole and a slice showing all twelve delicate layers with a beautiful, deep purple mirror glaze dripping down the sides.

Kristie stopped in front of it, complete awe running through her. “Wow,” she managed to say, though her lips barely moved.

“Lavender tastes like soap,” Mission said. “But it’s a pretty cake.” He cut a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t want my chocolate birthday cake to have lavender in it.”

She smiled, pure appreciation blooming in her chest for the way he could acknowledge something impressive while still being honest.

“Jocelyn is going to be obsessed with opera cakes now,” Kristie said.

“Have you ever made one?” He guided her gently to the right, as the baking competition required everyone to move in the same direction to view the entries.

“No,” Kristie said. “They’re very finicky. Lots can go wrong.”

“And you bake for fun, right?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

Kristie hadn’t really thought about it lately. She’d set a goal to earn a ribbon at the State Fair—and she realized now that goal had stolen some of the joy from her baking.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I bake for fun.”

She wasn’t trying to start a business or get on a baking competition show. She’d just wanted to improve something about herself. She’d signed up for a community course and enjoyed baking—until these past couple of months.

And then she saw it—Jocelyn’s lemon basil cake. A white, first-place ribbon gleamed beside it, only a few feet away from the purple-ribbon winner.

Kristie squealed. “Look, it’s Jocelyn’s cake!” Pure happiness streamed through her. She snapped a picture and quickly texted her friend.

I know what you got in the baking competition. Do you want me to tell you?

No, we’re almost there. Don’t you dare tell me,Jocelyn sent back.

“They’re almost here,” Kristie said. “Should we wait for them?”

Mission had taken a few steps ahead, but now he turned back to her, his eyes wide, something tense flowing off him.

Kristie stepped toward him. “What is it?”

He nodded his cowboy hat toward his left shoulder. Down the aisle, a few desserts over, Kristie saw her apple crumble tart.

She gasped. Air rushed out of her lungs as she hurried over.

There it was. Another white ribbon. First Place.

“Turn around, kitten,” Mission said.

She did, and he snapped her picture. “Now scoot in a little tighter, baby.” He took several photos, and she crowded next to him to look.

“I got first place,” she breathed.

“You got the same as Jocelyn, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

He kissed her, but only for a moment as someone catcalled, and Mission stepped back with a growl just as they were swarmed by familiar faces.

Tucker Hammond and Tarr Olson approached with wide grins.

“Hey, guys,” Mission said with a chuckle. “What are you doing here?”

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